


That's Torn It

by abundantlyqueer



Series: Two Two One Bravo Baker Universe [2]
Category: Original Work, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: DVD Extras, Excessive Use of Profane Language, I Don't Even Know You Guys, M/M, Military
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-29
Updated: 2011-05-29
Packaged: 2017-10-19 21:57:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abundantlyqueer/pseuds/abundantlyqueer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demented offshoot of the <b>Two Two One Baker Bravo</b> universe. Blackwood and Henn horseplay, with a blow job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's Torn It

**Author's Note:**

> I do not even know, you guys. This isn't going to make the slightest bit of sense to anyone except me, but here it is anyway.

“Jesus fuck, Henn, can you not do that in here unless you’re planning to share,” Blackwood says.

He kicks at Henn’s booted feet where they’re resting on the low stack of empty supply pallets that serves as a coffee table, in front of the orange and brown floral monstrosity of a couch that Two Two One Baker Bravo acquired as spoils of war when a drug lord’s summer villa was gutted to provide extra administrative space for Camp Tangiers.

“Fuck off,” Henn says, but he withdraws his feet from the table and his hand from inside his unbuttoned camouflage pants.

His face is flushed, though it’s hard to tell if it’s embarrassment, arousal, or fifteen hours in hard sunshine. He’s pink enough along his hairline to make his sun-bleached hair look pale yellow by contrast, and his usually non-descript eyes look sky blue. Blackwood flops down on the couch next to Henn, splaying his knees aggressively wide and leaning into Henn to peer at the screen of the laptop balanced on Henn’s thighs. Henn reaches for the keyboard, but Blackwood grabs at his wrist before he can close the open window.

“For real?” Blackwood laughs, as Henn jerks his wrist free but doesn’t bother trying to regain control of his computer. “For fucking real? You’re sitting here rubbing one out to _Blackhawk Down_? Jesus, Henn, get help.”

“Fuck _off_ ,” Henn says, yanking his laptop aside and dumping it on the seat next to him.

“Aw, don’t be mad,” Blackwood says, sliding sideways slightly and dropping his head onto Henn’s shoulder.

“Fuck the fuck _off_ ,” Henn says, pushing at Blackwood’s head with the flat of his hand.

He succeeds in shoving Blackwood off his shoulder, only to have him slide face first down his chest into his lap.

“Fuck, you smell nice,” Blackwood says into Henn’s crotch.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you,” Henn sputters, as Blackwood laughs heatedly into the still open front of his pants.

Blackwood lifts his head and turns his face to look up at Henn, the golden motes in his eyes like little sparks in the half-light.

“I’ll suck it if you let me sit on it afterwards,” he says reasonably.

“ _Jesus fucking Christ Blackwood_ ,” Henn almost yells, and the two of them are suddenly a struggling wriggling pair of madmen as they try to get Henn's pants and underwear down his thighs in under a second without him falling off the couch.

“Fucking Jesus fuck,” Henn says frantically as his cock comes free and springs to a perfect vertical while he’s slumped at a near horizontal off the edge of the couch.

Blackwood drops to his knees and pins Henn with one forearm across his naked stomach and the other wrapped around his clothed shins, and engulfs Henn’s cock in his mouth. Henn jolts violently, but the only noise he makes a nasal exhalation and a long, shaky inhalation. Blackwood mouths him brutally, Henn clutching at the couch cushions and then at the back of Blackwood’s shirt between his shoulder blades.

“Fucking Jesus fucking _gently_ ,” Henn gasps.

Blackwood hums apologies low in his throat, and turns his mouth softer, moves his head up and down smoothly. Henn makes a small sound, a stifled sigh perhaps, and his body unravels somewhat. He rocks his head loosely from side to side.

“Jesus, that’s – oh fuck,” he murmurs.

His breathing starts to tighten again, though, as Blackwood sucks harder and with more rhythm. Henn huffs his breath out, one hand wrapping around Blackwood’s darkly tanned forearm where it lies across his stomach, the other sliding up from Blackwood’s spine to the nape of his neck where his dark hair tapers to nothing.

“Jesus … fuck … okay … yeah … definitely,” Henn gasps.

His boots scrabble on the gritty floor, seeking for purchase. He pushes his head back into the couch cushions, and his hips lift a little as his thighs tense.

“Shit fuck fuck _fuck_ ,” he says in a sudden rush, lifting his head to stare wide eyed at Blackwood.

Blackwood looks at him from the corners of his eyes, nose wrinkling and cheeks tensing in a smile that can’t get any leverage around the thickness of Henn’s cock. Henn’s head snaps back and he exhales in a long, rasping gasp as his hips kick jerkily and he comes into Blackwood’s mouth.

“Fuckity fucking oh fuck,” Henn says, tossing his head from side to side and letting his hands drop away from Blackwood.

Blackwood sits back on his heels, cackling madly and wiping the corner of his mouth with his fingers.

“Fuck - _you fuck artist_ ,” Henn says, slapping at Blackwood with both hands.

Blackwood rolls onto his back on the floor, laughing hysterically. Henn scoops his softening cock into the palm of his hand and winces.

“Did I break it?” Blackwood says, rolling onto his side and hitching an elbow onto Henn’s knee.

“No, but you’re not fucking sitting on it now,” Henn says, pulling his underwear up and setting his cock into it tenderly.

“Oh you little prick-tease,” Blackwood in mock indignation. “I just gave you a blow job - ”

“You just gave me the _worst fucking_ blow job in history,” Henn corrects.

“I’m going out again,” John says as he stops on the threshold and swivels his gaze wildly away from the tangle of Blackwood and Henn that’s occupying part of the couch and part of the coffee table, “and then I’m going to come in again, and you pair of lunatics are going to be having a different conversation, in a different position, okay?”

“Sir,” Blackwood says.

“Yes, Sir,” Henn says.

“Okay,” John says, keeping his gaze on the canvas ceiling bowing above him. “Carry on – or, y’know, stop, for God's sake.”

He turns away, and walks out to the accompaniment of Blackwood laughing and Henn berating him and weirdly, the sudden soundtrack of _Blackhawk Down_ playing very loudly.


End file.
